Mᴜᴛᴀɴᴛ Aᴘᴏᴄᴀʟʏᴘsᴇ: Dᴏɴᴀᴛᴇʟʟᴏ's 200 Dᴀʏs

17 || 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄

𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝟺𝟷

During the next several days, Donnie believed that his life would become a little easier now that he had Katie's memories replaying in his head all of the time. It reminded him of the good times he used to have when the world was alive and he was sure these memories would help him for a long while. Unfortunately, those memories were temporary.

Just about 72 hours after Katie left, Don began going into a relapse of his recent behavior... His survival skills began to slack, too. For example, he would enter houses without being quiet, he'll run low on food, forgets he has weapons to defend himself, and isn't aware of his surroundings very well.

He thought he was doing fantastic... Today, he got a reality check.

Donatello ran through the neighborhood with a wounded side, grunting and groaning with every move he took. The more he moved, the more he opened his injury near his hip and caused a bleed-out. He was anxious to get away from the infected that chased him and he was desperate to find someplace safe.

Just about ten minutes ago, Donnie had a run-in with a Stalker in an abandoned warehouse where he didn't pay attention to his surroundings during his escape. With perfect timing, Donnie accidentally impaled himself with a rod just a few centimeters away from his plastron. Now, he is close to death, bleeding out profusely.

He ran for as long as he could, but all he is going is making his heart pump out his blood faster than before. When he collapsed, he heard a voice inside his head, shouting and bellowing at him to get up. It was torturous to him and it's been this way ever since Katie had gone with her family.

"Get up!" Don snarled.

When he finally got to his feet, he stumbled, keeping pressure on his wound that was slowly bringing him closer to his grave. The roars behind him were growing louder and louder, pretty much screaming his name.

I'm gonna die here, I'm gonna die here! He thought as he stumbled on this sidewalk.

Then, he sees the closest house-- a yellow house. Don pushed his strength to the limit and got up from the ground, nearly tipping on his feet until he reached the front door. He barged into the home, slammed the door shut, and slid down the door. The blood is painting the white interior red, smearing and dripping all over the floor, too.

At this point, Don couldn't keep his eyesight focused anymore. He's fading by the second and the only way he could treat himself is by going to the bathroom. With whatever energy he had left, Donnie quickly crawled to the bathroom, groaning in agony. "Ugh! UGHH!!" He cried, huffing and puffing, feeling the pain reaching its peak. Don pushed the bathroom door open, standing the door with his blood and scooting to the bathroom sink, leaning up against it. "AH!" He hissed.

His scaled skin is turning pale, his lips are nearly grey, and he is going to make sure he lives. As he worked with what supplies and tools he had in his pack, he heard that strange voice in his head again. It sounded like him, but it wasn't him.

"You're gonna let this little flesh wound kill you, Donnie?!" He shouts at him mentally.

"N-No..." He breathed weakly, clutching the suture needled and gauze in his hand.

"Then f*cking get up and live! This bullsh*t is over!"

Don winced, his limbs shaking uncontrollably. He could hardly dab the gauze on his wound and stitch himself up. While he repaired his deep wound, Donnie could feel the clammy cold sweats rush over him like a massive wave. His pulse is slowing and he is nearly passed out on the floor... He is just glad he made it and lived to see another day.